The most common misconception of an exotic dancer—stripper, to some who enjoy derogatory terms, is that we do this for attention. Men assume we have daddy issues or have had a horrible upbringing to the point dancing was our only option, but what they don't understand is the release dancing can bring.

When sliding down a pole, I'm not concerned about issues going on outside of this club. All of my focus has to be concentrated on each muscle group to ensure I don't fall, yet I also have to retain the fluidity of a natural dancer.

A pole dancer, exotic dancer, stripper... Whatever you want to call it, it's an art form, and I'm damn talented at it. Talented enough to be dancing at one of the most coveted and secretive clubs on the Upper East Side.

Disguised as a business tower, executive officials, politicians, and anyone with a semblance of power come to The Harbor to delve into their dirty work. Whether they're coming for a night of pleasure or to dabble in lucrative deals, they know this place will keep it on the down low. It's an unspoken threat, but if what's said in The Harbor leaves The Harbor? You're practically begging for trouble to find you.

I've only been dancing here for a month, but I've learned a lot in that short amount of time. I've learned not to ask questions even if they're warranted. I know to collect my cash quickly so I don't waste time from the other girls here. I've learned to steer clear of the men others have warned me are slimy with hands that are too touchy.

With a handful of cash, I'm exiting the stage when Jaz, a cute and petite brunette grabs my arm excitedly. "Guess who just made a thousand bucks in the Red Room?"

The Red Room, otherwise known as the room where many high ballers pay to have a private dance. I've never asked what goes on in the Red Room, but judging from the way Jaz's lipstick is smeared, I can only assume it's more than dancing.

"A thousand is a lot," I tell her, stuffing the wads of cash into my neon green bra. In the lowlights of the club, they hit Jaz's glimmering silver one-piece suit, which hugs her curves in all of the right places. "Who asked you to go in there?"

She jerks her thumb over to the bar where floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city. "Cal Thorpe. He's running for mayor this year."

"Impressive. Think he'll invite you there again?"

She shrugs. "He's a regular, so I don't see why not."

Buck, the owner who has the build of a lumberjack, steps up beside us and points a meaty finger towards the stage. He has a mustache that looks like it belongs in a circus, and his black hair is always slicked back with far too much product. "Less talking, more working ladies. This club isn't going to run itself."

"Sorry!" Jaz quips, wobbling slightly in her stilettos. She scurries off to another member waving her over, leaving Buck and me alone. Jaz has been here far longer than me, so she has regulars who come specifically to see her. I, on the other hand, don't enjoy speaking to members. I don't need the money given I own a flower shop with my best friend that does extraordinarily well. I dance to feel sexy. I dance as a form of release. I dance because I love it, not to go to the Red Room to do unspoken things.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm living a double life. If Riley knew what I truly did, she might not only disown me as her best friend but kick me out of our apartment entirely. She's quiet, reserved, and is the complete opposite of me. If she knew what I did after we closed up shop for the day, I don't know how she'd react.

I'm certainly not going to find out.

"Corden!" Buck claps his hands together as a man I've never seen before approaches us. He's... God, he's attractive.

Dressed in a Versace suit that seems to be custom-made, it's tailored perfectly to fit his six-two frame. A Rolex glistens on his wrist as he wraps Buck in an awkward hug, stealing the breath from my lungs when he flicks his blue-gray eyes over me. He trails them lazily from my head to my toes, lingering on my breasts once more before bringing his attention back to Buck.

Subtle.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Buck continues. "Are you here for business?"

"Not quite," he replies, glancing at me again. "Who's this?"

I don't appreciate that he's not even addressing me. I'm not some cattle on the market he can purchase or inquire about. If he has a question, he can at least acknowledge I'm standing right in front of him.

"My name is Hadari," I answer for Buck. At The Harbor, we use fake names, not our real ones. Hadari is my stage name.

"Hadari," he repeats slowly like he's conforming it to memory. Then, as if he can sense my irritation, he sticks his hand out for me to shake. The one with the Rolex. "It's a pleasure."

I eye his hand for a good five seconds before Buck elbows me in the side. Hiding my wince, I place my palm in his, sucking in a breath when the man runs his thumb across my knuckles.

"Are you free for the Red Room?" he asks.

"Oh, no. I just got done for the night, so if you'll excuse—"

Buck grabs me by the elbow when I try to leave, and I don't miss when the man's eyes dart to the action, narrowing slightly. "If Corden would like a private session in the Red Room, he'll get one. Whatever he says goes, or else you can find yourself someplace else to work. Got that, sweetie?"

Corden clears his throat. "If it's alright with Hadari, I'd like to speak with her alone to make this request."

What is it about this guy that has Buck so on edge? I've seen him around socialites and other members with elite status, and he's never seemed so...nervous. His cheeks are red and blotchy, and his forehead is breaking out into a sweat. Whereas most members try to impress Buck, it seems as if Buck is trying to impress Corden.

"If she gives you any problems..." Buck starts, sliding a warning glance in my direction.

"She won't," Corden replies. "Leave us."

I'm standing frozen in place as Buck practically scurries into another section of the club. The authoritativeness of Corden's voice is... I mean, I'd probably scurry off too if that tone was directed towards me.

"Would you like a drink?" he asks, arching a brow.

"I... We're not allowed to drink on the clock." Why am I so tongue-tied? The normally fierce, assertive, confident woman I am is nowhere to be found in his presence.

Spinning on his heels, he strides for the bar at the back of the room where the music is slightly quieter. Members chat in low whispers as they dine in booths, and it's not until I step up beside him at the bar that I realize I willingly followed him over here. I had every intention of leaving, and yet...

"Well?" he asks, gesturing to the bartender.

"Gin martini," I reply. "Please."

His lips twitch, threatening a smile as he repeats the order to the bartender, along with a scotch on the rocks. The hard lines of his face are distracting me as we wait for our drinks. His cheekbones and jawline seem to be carved from stone, sculpted too damn perfectly it's almost unfair. His blonde hair is slicked back into a bun towards the top of his head, but it's not slimy like Buck's. It's distinguished.

He slides me my drink with two fingers as soon as it hits the bar. "Are you not fond of the Red Room?"

Getting straight to it I see.

"I've never been in the Red Room," I admit, "but I've heard what goes on in there, and I'm not interested."

Arching a brow, he seems impressed by my honesty. "What do you think goes on in there?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Taking a long sip of the gin martini, he grins, and holy hell. If I thought his face was perfect? I lied. His smile is even better.

"I guess that depends on who goes into the Red Room. Certain members have expectations I've heard."

"And you?" I ask. "What are your expectations?"

He ponders the question for a moment. "With others who enjoy the Red Room? My expectations would probably be different from someone who has never been into it before."

"And you'd be willing to lower your expectations just to go into the Red Room with me?"

He does that lazy perusal again over my body, but I've never felt insecure over a man's judgment. I can't predict what he's thinking, but I know I look fantastic tonight. A neon green bikini set is stark against my dark skin. My belly ring is a long diamond that hits the top of my underwear and matches the silver stilettos on my feet, and my braids are freshly done, reaching to the end of my spine.

"I'll accept anything you're willing to give," he says. His voice carries a different sort of huskiness to it now, and the sound elicits a shiver to race down my spine.

Tossing back the rest of my drink, I set the empty glass on the bar, giving him a tentative smile. "Thanks for the drink, but as I said before, I'm off the clock for the night, and I don't go to the Red Room."

"Name your price to make you stay on the clock and enter the Red Room with me," he counters.

"What?" I laugh at his audacity. "I can't be bought, Mr..."

"Corden," he corrects.

I wave a hand dismissively. "Okay, Corden. Whatever your name is, I'm not for sale. I'm sure there are plenty of other girls here who would be more than willing to go into that room with you."

"None of them who've captured my attention in the way you have." He grins at my stunned silence, adding, "Ten thousand."

What.

The.

Fuck.

Ten thousand dollars?

Is this guy insane? Who has ten thousand dollars to just throw around so willingly?

"Ten thousand," I repeat. It's an effort that my eyes don't bug out of my head. "Is this some sort of prank?"

"Not in the slightest." He sets his empty glass beside mine on the bar. "Ten thousand dollars right now if you go into that room with me. Unlike other members, I don't pressure women to do things they aren't comfortable with. As I stated previously, I'm willing to accept anything you'll offer. A private dance, for example."

"Let me get this straight... You'll pay me ten thousand dollars if I go into the Red Room and give you a private dance? That's all I'll have to do?"

"Yes."

It rolls off of his tongue simply as if he didn't have to give it a second thought, and as much as his arrogance annoys me, there are important things I could use the money for. Ten thousand dollars to do what I've already been doing my entire shift? I'd have to be an idiot to pass that up.

Taking a step away from the bar, I jerk my head to the hallway that leads to the private, enclosed space. "Tonight's your lucky night, Corden. Lead the way."